This is life to come, — Which martyred men have made more glorious For us who strive to follow. May I reach That purest heaven, — be to other souls T… - George Eliot

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Engraved portrait of George Eliot, facing right

This is life to come, — Which martyred men have made more glorious For us who strive to follow. May I reach That purest heaven, — be to other souls The cup of strength in some great agony, Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, And in diffusion ever more intense! So shall I join the choir invisible Whose music is the gladness of the world.

English
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About George Eliot

George Eliot (born Mary Ann Evans; 22 November 1819 – 22 December 1880) was an English novelist and poet. Despite the strong social customs of her times against such arrangements, she lived unmarried with fellow writer George Henry Lewes‎‎ for over 20 years.

Biography information from Wikiquote · Portrait adapted from Wikimedia Commons, replica by François D’Albert Durade (1804–1886) (Public domain / CC0)

Also Known As

Birth Name: Mary Anne Evans
Native Name: Mary Ann Evans Marian Evans
Alternative Names: Mary Anne Evans Cross Mary Anne Cross Marian Cross

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Additional quotes by George Eliot

Poor fellow! I think he is in love with you.'

I am not aware of it. And to me it is one of the most odious things in a girl's life, that there must always be some supposition of falling in love coming between her and any man who is kind to her... I have no ground for the nonsensical vanity of fancying everybody who comes near me is in love with me.

But these things are often unknown to the world; for there is much pain that is quite noiseless; and vibrations that make human agonies are often a mere whisper in the roar of hurrying existence. There are glances of hatred that stab and raise no cry of murder; robberies that leave man or woman for ever beggared of peace and joy, yet kept secret by the sufferer – committed to no sound except that of low moans in the night, seen in no writing except that made on the face by the slow months of suppressed anguish and early morning tears. Many an inherited sorrow that has marred a life has been breathed in no human ear.

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